


there’s always the one guy who doesn’t know shit about swordplay

by ShadowManShenanigans



Category: Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blink and you'll miss it, Canon-Typical Violence, Mild Blackwing-related Angst, Post-Episode: s02e08 Little Guy Black Hair, any time there is Any Blood i tag it i'm sorry i ain't risking it, misuse of scissor-swords, shameless whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-04
Updated: 2017-12-04
Packaged: 2019-02-10 10:12:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12909780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadowManShenanigans/pseuds/ShadowManShenanigans
Summary: Alternative title: Martin vs. Wygar, take 2.Wygar tracks down the ones who stole his prince.





	there’s always the one guy who doesn’t know shit about swordplay

**Author's Note:**

  * For [everythingremainsconnected](https://archiveofourown.org/users/everythingremainsconnected/gifts).



The big scissor-wielding warrior roared and rushed forward, the sharp blades of his weapon flashing in the fading afternoon light, and Martin dove forward to meet him, swinging the log club in an arc to redirect the warrior’s strike — the scissors bounced off a tree and nearly sliced his belly open on the return swing, and Martin threw himself back to avoid the next blow, neatly leading the warrior away from Amanda.

“You will not get away with what you have done!” yelled the warrior, and Martin dodged another attack, darting in to lay a blow of his own — his strike, however, barely knocked the warrior back a single step, and the blurry shape retaliated faster than he could defend, knocking the club from his hands. “Kidnappers! Murderers! You will pay for your crimes!”

The warrior struck again with the flat of the closed blades and swiped Martin off of his feet, the white-haired Rowdy’s ribs screaming in protest as he gasped, flat on his back in the dirt. Before he could begin to push himself up, the big warrior swept the blades of the scissor-sword wide and drove them into the earth on either side of Martin. The blades sliced through the thin fabric of his jacket and shirt and slid tiny lines of icy fire on his skin, and Martin gripped the handguard of the sword before the warrior could wrench the blades shut — Martin had no desire to be cut in two that day.

“Have you any last words?” the warrior ground out — this close, Martin could make out the shape of his mouth moving to the words — and the Rowdy’s arms were straining to prevent the warrior’s intention, one boot planted on the warrior’s thigh and doing little to push him away. It wasn’t every day a mortal man could match the strength of one of the Rowdy 3 — Martin could hear the sounds of battle beyond them, the howls of his Rowdy boys and Amanda’s yells of encouragement urging them on, and a high-pitched yelp that might have been the British guy, and he smiled through the blood in his teeth up at the warrior.

“I won’t let you hurt my family,” he growled, and spat a mouthful of blood into the man’s face. The warrior snarled and whipped his head to the side, momentarily blinded, and Martin used the distraction to wrench himself out from beneath the blades, ignoring the rasp of the sharp edges against his hips and using the momentum to slam his forehead into the warrior’s nose. Something cracked and the warrior howled, staggering backwards with blood streaming down his face as Martin stumbled, his back hitting the tree as he reeled.

“Wygar, _stop!_ ” A voice broke through the haze of battle and Martin glanced toward the brighter-coloured blob moving with haste toward them — a voice that gave the big warrior pause, muscled arms holding the sword aloft as he prepared to renew his attack, Martin tense and wary by the tree. “You must stop this, Wygar! They’re trying to _help_ us!”

“They murdered your brother!” roared the warrior. “They kidnapped you from our very land!”

“ _Enough_ ,” said the voice — Martin inhaled deeply and winced as his ribs protested the movement, finally sifting through the myriad of scents to identify the speaker. “They are our allies, Wygar,” said Silas. “Put down your sword.”

“Your mother would not approve,” grumbled the warrior, but he lowered his sword, and allowed the slighter prince to rest a hand on his arm. “These villains are in league with the Mage—”

“They are _not_ ,” said Silas. Martin wiped his mouth on his sleeve and frowned when the fabric came away bright red, touching his mouth and finding that his lip was split. Vogel came flying across the field with a wild yell and Martin lunged, catching the youngest Rowdy around the middle to stop him from impaling the big warrior with his stolen scissor-swords.

“Easy does it,” he murmured in Vogel’s ear, ignoring the burn of the cuts on his sides and the pull on his ribs as Vogel wriggled against him, and only released his grip once the young Rowdy had calmed - Vogel bounced from foot to foot, but stayed by Martin, who was glancing around the wooded area. Cross and Gripps he could see; silhouettes distinctive as they chased each around with their helmets and mallets, but... “Where’s Drummer?”

“Here, I’m here.” And Amanda was _there_ , at his side, grasping his arm with an iron grip, and she tasted of _worry_ and _shock_ and that delicious scent that was purely Amanda — the one scent besides his boys he would follow anywhere. “Martin, you’re _hurt_.”

Martin looked down and winced — blood had soaked through the sides of his jacket and was leeching into the hem of his pants, spreading from the raw scrapes and cuts on his sides and hips. Amanda was already tugging her layered poncho over her head, wadding it up and pressing it around his hips, the worst of the bleeding, and he let out a grunt of surprise at the sudden spike of pain. “You gonna be cold, Drummer?”

“I’d rather you didn’t bleed to death,” she retorted, but he managed a smile, just for her, and the _fear worry concern_ that had been clouding her scent slowly eased. Martin wasn’t badly hurt — once the bleeding stopped and he had something to eat and some rest, it wouldn’t take long to heal. Amanda cast a glare in the direction of Wygar, and Martin grinned wider when he saw the little prince berating the big warrior, arms gesticulating wildly, the warrior’s shoulders slumping as he was scolded. Amanda touched his face and he winced — her fingers had unerringly found the site of a bruise courtesy of the British Guy and exacerbated by the first fight with Wygar barely an hour later — and her eyes widened.

He caught her fingers in his hand before she could poke him again. “I’ll be just fine, Drummer.”

She didn't look convinced.

“My deepest apologies,” said the big warrior, stepping toward them with Silas at his elbow, and Martin had to fight a very strong desire to shove Amanda toward the trees and tell her to run.

There were few forces of nature that could stop a Rowdy, and he had seen all three of his brothers knocked off their feet by a single attack — one they had directed at the big warrior, who had moved hardly more than a boulder from the combined force of the blows. Even knowing what little he did of Amanda’s newfound powers — he could taste it on her more than he had seen it — he still had to stifle the instinct to protect his family from any threat when it came to her.

“Don’t touch them again,” she snapped, and Martin hid a smile when the warrior took a step back. Good — at least the big man could recognize a true threat when he saw one.

Oh, Drummer. Their little spitfire supernova.

“It won’t happen again,” said Silas, “provided everyone keeps their weapons to themselves.” They wouldn’t start a fight, but they would be willing to end it — that’s what the little prince was saying, and Martin approved.

Not that there would be trouble from the Rowdies — they didn’t attack their allies.

“Apology accepted,” said Martin, when both the strangers paused and looked at him, as if waiting for — _something_. That seemed to appease them, and Martin moved toward Vogel — who had climbed on Gripps’ back and was laughing maniacally as the taller Rowdy ran him in circles. Amanda chased after him with her bloodied poncho, yelling that he needed to be more careful, and Martin smiled.

They were here, they were together, and they were _free_.

A few little battles here and there was a price he was more than willing to pay to have Amanda’s arm wrapped around his waist, to hear Vogel’s laughter and see the way Cross’s head leaned back when he howled in response, to feel Gripps’s hand brush his shoulder in passing to reassure them both that they were solid and real and not a dream.

Martin draped an arm around Amanda’s shoulders and she leaned her shoulder into his side, mindful of his cuts, and it didn’t matter that they were in the weirdest place he’d ever seen.

It felt like home to be with them again.

**Author's Note:**

> ~~I LOVE WYGAR OAK SO MUCH OKAY~~   
>  ~~also the fact that Martin CAN'T SEE CLEARLY and he was DRIVING THE TRUCK BACKWARDS VERY FAST scares me a lot~~
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Just a short little ramble because I have a _lot_ of feelings about S02E08  & Rowdies & everything that went down
> 
> This work was not edited.


End file.
